


The Pavuvu Swing

by hillbillied



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Dancing, Swing Dancing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9474980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillbillied/pseuds/hillbillied
Summary: "If we do have one, can I be your date?""You are ugly. I want Hoosier."Leckie's number is finally called.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hatchered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchered/gifts), [ruinsrebuilt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruinsrebuilt/gifts).



> Massive thank you and credit to [ruinsrebuilt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ruinsrebuilt) for giving me the idea and getting me to write this garbage!
> 
> For Roe, because there is not enough Leckie/Hoosier content in our world!
> 
> Also: To listen to the music mentioned in this fic, search 'glenn miller' on YouTube. I recommend "In the Mood" and "Pennsylvania 6-500". The second dance is supposed to be to "Sing, sing, sing" by the Benny Goodman Orchestra (which you've probably heard before because it is the poster child of swing music)

They only danced twice during the war.

Together, at least. And to each other's knowledge.  Both occasions on Pavuvu. The Island where hope was said to die.

A great contrast to the term Runner used, after the second time. When he'd clapped them both on the shoulder, said he enjoyed watching them go at it in the dancehall. The _"Pavuvu Swing"_ he called it. His smile reflecting the light like he'd caught them doing something they shouldn't be. Red-handed.

The first time was different.

The first time was on Pavuvu, but it sure as Hell wasn't swing.

 

 

 

It was December again. _Again_. 

Maybe it was Christmas already. Maybe it'd already turned over the New Year. Maybe it wasn't December, but January. 1945, not 1944. There was no snow, either way.

The hopeless island had never seen such a beautiful phenomena as snow. Crisp white flakes replaced by only heavy rain or blistering sun. Though he wished to see the snowfall again, Leckie would never choose to leave Pavuvu. The alternative was too much to bear.

So he sat in an empty hall instead, foot tapping gently to the scratchy record echoing from down the corridor. _Glenn Miller._ So, it must've been January. They only got the news of the beloved singer's death after Christmas, despite his plane having fallen missing on the 15th. News like that didn't travel fast.

The hospital staff wanted to play a tribute anyway. The man's greatest hits had been on a loop all day, still chiming true even though the sky outside had long gone dark. It was well past time for the marine to retire to bed.

Instead he sat in an empty dancehall. A small comforting space for recovering men to gather and fantasise their troubles away. Because they all knew music and polite chatter healed broken bones, torn flesh. Weak hearts.

Leckie couldn't hate the place though. The scuffed wooden floorboards were too homely to dislike. The tunes had him humming along softly, foot tapping away. Distracting his mind from thoughts he didn't want to face. To memories he didn't want to reflect upon.

To unanswered questions.

It'd been months since he was evacuated from Peleliu. Him and Runner had stuck to each other with ferocity since, never letting more than a day or so pass without seeing each other. It was too much, too horrible to not know what happened to anyone.

So they'd recovered as partners, knitted themselves back together on Pavuvu. Had their wounds seen to and their minds put at ease. They were safe here. And though that wasn't a lie, it was hard to swallow.

They'd sat together in the island's barracks, playing cards and lighting smokes. Waiting for news. Not the Glenn Miller kind. The kind that would tell them if the two men they had left behind had made it back out to open sea.

Runner checked the bulletin boards daily, scanning the names of new arrivals. Leckie got friendly with the nurses and doctors, always dropping hints at the opportune moment.

Chuckler was brought in several weeks later.

It felt like a decade. It may as well have been, if Runner's face was anything to go by. Eyes wide as he all but crashed into their sleeping quarters, jumping beds and tables alike. Cards went flying and voices were raised. As if the man shooting through hadn't suffered a broken arm and a bullet wound less than a month ago.

Leckie had been grabbed by the scruff of his clean greens. Untainted by mud or dirt, but crumpled the same in Runner's fist.

" _Leckie_ -!" The man had panted, forcing out the shaking words through a heaving chest, "I found Chuckler."

Leckie blinked, looking across the empty dancehall.  Blindly staring, just as he had with Chuckler lying in a hospital bed. Big guy's face lit up like fireworks as Runner fell to his knees at his bedside. They held hands.

Runner cried.

Leckie wondered if he'd have done the same for him. If Hoosier would have.

If he'd have done the same for Hoosier.

But there hadn't been any news on that front. Not since they'd been face to face, all those months ago. Face to face on the brink of Peleliu's airfield. Blood streaming over Leckie's hands. Hoosier's blood.

_'Sorry...'_

Leckie dragged his fingers through his hair. Washed for once and trimmed back into shape. What a high life he was living. Eating hot food and listening to Glenn Miller. Having the spare time to lament and wonder painfully whether he'd ever know what that word had meant.

Whether he'd ever see Hoosier again.

The floorboards creaked. The double doors followed suit, hinges squeaking softly. _Speak of the Devil and the Devil will appear_ , his ma always used to chatter. Leckie threw every belief in such things out with each pull of the trigger. Every grain of sand shaken from his boots on Cape Gloucester. Every tear shed in Melbourne.

So no, he didn't look up. Didn't need to, didn't want to. If an MP told him it was time to clear out then clear out he would. Otherwise, visitors could jog on by.

"Your date ditch you too?"

Leckie laughed bitterly before he recognised the voice.

"Yeah," He huffed breathlessly, looking up at his visitor, "You should'a seen her-!"

He stopped. Just as his mind did, grounding itself in the reality before him. Dancehall fantasy disappearing, the record sounding scratchier than ever. Each hitch and crackle ringing like a mortar shell.

Leckie blinked, refreshing his view. He couldn't trust his eyes.

" _Bill_."

He whispered it like a prayer. The last gasp of a drowning man. Because that name was gospel and he'd only said it like that once before. When his hands were bloody. And Bill was slipping from his grasp.

But like the man he was, Hoosier smiled. Curved his lips upward in a tired grin. Not the grimace of a ghost or the lost expression of a corpse. No, all flesh and blood. Alive. _Breathing_. Strong chest rising and falling beneath his own clean green uniform. Dog tags rustling as he limped determinedly over the polished wooden floor.

The electric lights buzzed with flies and static. Glenn Miller started up the next song on his track list. And Leckie stood up to meet the man he so desperately wanted to see.

"I thought-?" He stopped himself. He bit his tongue and curbed the admission of guilt that surged up from the depths. Hoosier looked on patiently, sad eyes fixed solely on his.

Leckie kept his distance. Punished himself for a crime he couldn't explain.

" _You made it_." He managed finally. At least that brought back Bill's smile.

"You an' me both."

Leckie let out a quiet gasp, chest hitching in a manor he couldn't explain.

"Yeah." He didn't trust his mind enough to say anymore.

He could already feel himself clinging to his composure by a thread, desperately trying to hold on. To keep his body upright, his mind on the present. Not on his knees, on what might have been.

His facade may have been good, but Hoosier was better. The blond man closed the gap between them inch by inch, taking a meandering route as he looked carelessly around the dancehall. Like they were back home. Like this was all nothing to worry about.

Like that word, that question, wasn't beating itself to death against the inside of Leckie's skull.

"I was worried, for a lil' while." Robert couldn't look at the other man as he spoke, his gaze unfocused. Hazily watching that crisp green shirt move closer before him, USMC letters swirling in the din. Bill set himself a mere foot away as he continued, "Thought I might not be able t'take you up on tha' offer of yours."

Their eyes met, Leckie squinting under the ugly strip lights. Confused as the other never once dropped his gaze. So fixed on him. Unwavering as his smile. The confusion was question enough, and Hoosier answered gracefully.

"To be your dance date."

It cast the first stone, created the first chip in Leckie's wall. He smiled then, too, grinned like he was on the verge of cracking. A wide, loving, painful expression.

"Well, Glenn Miller is playing." He was his old self for a moment, all crass and crude and crushingly sarcastic. If only his words didn't tremble on his tongue. "And we do have the hall to ourselves."

Bill's eyebrows raised in an agreeable expression. Blinking slowly as he nodded.

There was nothing quite like what Leckie felt then. The physical sensation of Hoosier's fingers intertwining with his. The rustle of his shirt as Hoosier's hand slid over his shoulder. The heat under his palm as he shakily grasped Hoosier's waist. The man smelt of smoke and soap, over the scent of sweat and blood that could never be washed away.

Bill was blissfully warm, his chest bumping Robert's as they breathed in tandem. Pressed against each other. Close enough to share the breath from their lungs. Calloused fingers squeezed those softened by the pages of books. Comforting the professor who stood so rigidly.

Despite having a hand on his waist, Hoosier was the first to move.

To gently sway them both, from one foot to the other. Shifting their weight slowly, back and forth as they turned lazily. Revolving within their tiny patch of the dancefloor, allowed to retreat to their own little world.

Not yet, not with how Leckie glanced downward. Tore his gaze from Bill's to check his partner's leg. To make sure they were still on wooden boards, not bloody sand.

"Your leg-?"

" _Is fine_." Hoosier answered, taking his hand off the other man's shoulder for a moment.

His fingers slid determinedly over Leckie's neck, thumb gliding over the man's jaw. Lifting his chin back up so they could face each other again. Only letting go when Bill was sure Robert wouldn't look back down. Wouldn't go searching for trouble that wasn't there.

Glenn Miller echoed pleasantly around them. The soft sounds of the trombone covered their footfalls as they trod more confidently. Still slow, taking their time with every swaying step. They weren't racing the song and they weren't rushing to finish their dance.

In any other moment, Leckie might have recognised the beloved notes of _Pennsylvania 6-5000_. A family favourite across all 48 states. He didn't notice, his mind unable to think of anything beyond what he saw before him.

The sheen of blond hair under the humming electric lights. The clean tanned skin, still broken in places but blessedly free of the dirt they were so accustomed too. The bridge of Bill's nose, angled to one side as the man closed his eyes. Letting himself enjoy their movement in peace. Basking in Leckie's gaze, trusting the control to him.

Robert's arm snaked itself tighter around his partner's waist. He was leading now, given the wheel once Hoosier had started the engine. But he still didn't trust himself. He wanted to be closer. To make sure they didn't sway too hard or too fast and the room would shatter around them. No more dancehall. No more Glenn Miller.

Bill didn't object. He pressed their chests together willingly. A soft sigh escaped his lips, eyes still shut under Leckie's protective gaze. The curly haired marine felt that sigh tickle his jaw, followed by the warm feeling of skin upon skin. A warm face buried in the curve of his neck, nose against his throat.

Robert swallowed thickly, his breath hitching even as his feet continued to move. He found himself staring across the hall again, returned to his place before the dance. Unseeing eyes unable to let him leave.

Only this time, Bill's lips were against his neck. Breathing deeply, drawing in Leckie's scent, untainted by gunpowder and death.

And there were warm droplets running over Robert's cheeks.

His tears slid silently down his face, spilling over as the music played. Droplets landing deafly to make tiny stains on their otherwise spotless greens. Though Glenn Miller still played, their feet slowed to a halt as Hoosier brought his head up to face the crying man.

Leckie looked at him in desperation. Eyes filled with tears and bottom lip trembling. Begging for some kind of instruction. An insight into how he should feel. What he should do.

Bill's frown was one only of concern. Of pain for his friend's sake. And something else, something Robert couldn't name. Something he couldn't recognise for he had never seen it before.

Hoosier took his hand from Leckie's shoulder once more, leaving the other still entwined in their dancing pose. His fingers brushed against Robert's jaw, leaving it only to move around to his curly hair. There, at the back of Leckie's neck, Bill found his grip, levering himself forward to press his lips against the other man's.

The record's beat ebbed away behind the warmth of the kiss, Robert finding his wide eyes falling shut in blissful submission. A broken whimper escaped him, grip on his partner's waist becoming a desperate hold. To draw them closer, to remove even the tiniest of gaps between their forms.

And later he would wonder why. Why he reacted so passionately. Why he didn't push himself away. Why he didn't hesitate, didn't think, didn't act at all like the man he knew himself to be.

He chased women. He planned to meet a girl and get married. Have children, meet in-laws, be accepted as nothing but a regular good old boy.

This wasn't in his field of view, it never had been. But then, nothing he'd done out here ever had been. And if he had turned his nose up at those who liked their own gender because of some loyalty to God, then he truly had no reason to fight this now. Not when he had abandoned faith - abandoned God - in the battlefield on which the almighty had left him to die.

He was a free man, he realised. Now that he had had his innocence torn out he could see a bigger picture. One of endless possibilities. One in which the man who loved him could have died without either of them ever admitting what they felt. But also one in which man was king. Free to defy God and damn them both.

So Leckie kissed Hoosier back. Finally untangled their fingers and weaved two arms around the man's waist. Brought their thighs and groins and stomachs flush against each other as Hoosier took a second hand to his partner's hair. They kissed like soldiers, like dying men. All tongue and lips sliding against each other, heavy gasps for air amongst tiny grunts of pleasure.

They didn't say _I love you_ when they eventually broke apart. A thin string of saliva still connecting their mouths. Foreheads pushed together as Leckie squeezed his eyes shut and forced the warm tears from his eyes. He welcomed them this time, as Bill's thumbs came round to brush them away.

It was a long time before the crying stopped. Before Robert's shoulders were still enough for them to embrace, to kiss again. And it was longer still before they retired to bed, needing to rest just as they had when they'd first returned here.

They left the dancehall as empty as they had found it, Glenn Miller echoing peacefully into the night.

 

 

 

The second time was definitely in 1945.

It was March. And they were all going home.

The Pavuvu dancehall, previously so sombre, was alight that night. Alive and glistening, strings of bulbs hung over the doorway. The record player had been dragged into the hall itself, the vinyl spinning its heart out on the turntable. The needle scratched and struggled to keep up with the fast paced jive that echoed into the night sky from the open doors.

Men came and went freely. Smiling, laughing, some even singing. All recovering from wounds taken from Peleliu. And everyone of them notified of the troop ship in the harbour, waiting to set sail tomorrow. For Melbourne, then onward to good old USA. Back to their homes.

The hospital wanted to see them off. A farewell and best wishes from the facility that had stitched each one of them back into a humane shape. Set their broken bones and repaired their torn flesh. And though many of their hearts were still weak, they would only have to endure one more night. One more night, lit aflame with laughter and music.

Leckie didn't need such a night, but he was happy to accept one.

Originally planning on staying in bed, reading the last few pages he ever would on the hopeless island, he had been wickedly coerced into attending the dancehall party. Had never stopped his grumbling as he forced himself into his dress uniform, tie loosened an alarming amount. Jacket open, top button undone. Cap lost somewhere in the smoke as he entered the swinging dancehall. The blaring of " _Sing, sing sing_ " punctuated by the tapping of feet on the wooden floor.

Drinks were clinking. Cards hit tables and chairs rocked back in howling applause. Runner jumped into Chuckler's lap with a great hoot, proclaiming _"I could kiss ya' right now!"._ Leckie couldn't help but give the pair a  toothy smile, fours hands scraping up their winnings from the poker game.

Tired eyes looked across a crowded dancehall as Robert realised he couldn't even see the other side. So many lively dancers blocked his way. All men, partnered together ridiculously. Jiving and swinging while their less intoxicated friends slapped each other on the back and hooted with encouragement.

Leckie hadn't had a drop to drink yet, though he wholly intended to. Something him and Hoosier shared, the latter landing a hand on his shoulder as he glided past. All rolled up sleeves and slanted cap. The curly haired marine looked to the fingers on his uniform, to the face of the smiling individual whom they belonged to.

"Wanna dance, professor?" Bill asked, his voice cascading over the record's song, around the cigarette between his teeth.

Leckie couldn't help but laugh, look around dopily, as if checking it was him that was being spoken to.

" _What_?"

Hoosier rolled his eyes skyward. His grin never faltered, even as he reached out and curled a fist around Robert's tie.

" _C'mon_." The trombone roared as Bill spoke, "I won't ask twice."

He winked and pulled. Dragged a stumbling marine into the fray of the dance. They didn't need a guiding hand on their waist or a tender grip on their shoulders this time. There were no tears to brush away.

Just each other, glaring their partner down  determinedly, laughing as they grabbed hands and kicked their legs. Swinging, jumping, spinning as the record howled. Feet feeling like they barely brushed the ground.

They danced like soldiers. They danced like dying men.

They danced like the happiest men in the world, in that smoky dancehall on the island nicknamed " _Death of Hope_ ".

 

 

 

And when Runner caught up with them in the morning - standing on the beach, watching the sunrise for the last time - they could only smile at what he said.

"The _Pavuvu Swing_ , huh?" Hoosier repeated, chewing the words over as he looked to Leckie.

To the man by his side, on this beach and every one before. The man who looked back at him with a lopsided smile, sunlight reflecting off his curly hair. The man who met his gaze with the same admiration, same understanding.

Leckie let out a soft chuckle, taking a last drag of his smoke. He threw it down with huff and a grin.

" _Catchy_."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments greatly appreciated!


End file.
